


the very best of times

by StarlightDragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Episode Fix-it, First Kiss, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-The Final Problem, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9345044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightDragon/pseuds/StarlightDragon
Summary: Post-The Final Problem. John and Sherlock unpack their things back into Baker Street. John has something to confess, Sherlock has something to deduce, and both of them have a game to win.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had to fix it, I had to. TFP kind of broke me in the worst possible way with the whole ambiguous ending and not making Johnlock canon and this was the only way for me to stop crying about it so yeah, it's completely self indulgent but I hope it's what you guys need too

"She's wrong, you know."

They hadn't spoken in a few hours. Sherlock was in the kitchen, arranging the teacups in exactly the way he liked them, because John couldn't be trusted with the teacup index. John was in the living room, wiring up the television and the DVD player, tangled up in a mess of senseless cables.

"Yes, most people are, John. Can you be more specific?"

John pushed the cables aside and stood up, strolling over to the kitchen doorway and leaning against it, pretending to be more casual than he was. "Mary. She's wrong. When she says I never left the war."

Sherlock continued to stack his teacups, pointedly not looking at John. "You don't have to prove anything to me. After the things I've done recently I'm the last man who should be judging anyone.

"No, Sherlock, look at me!" John pressed his forehead against the door, grimacing. "I need to say something, and you're not exactly making it any easier!"

Sherlock spun around so fast that John's vision blurred, placing the last teacup on top of the stack and closing the cupboard door in one smooth movement. "John, we have a lot of work to do to restore our flat, so make this quick?"

John nodded, doing his best to keep eye contact. He was a soldier, dammit, and he'd walked into some of the most dangerous battlefields in the world without breaking a sweat, and yet here he was struggling to look his best friend in the eye. But Sherlock was right. It was better to get this over with.

"Mycroft said the same thing to me. First time I met him. He said that I missed the war. He'd have been right if he'd said it a week earlier, but by the time he took me to that bloody parking garage, I'd already found something better than Afghanistan ever was."

"Oh yes? Was it that cake shop around the corner from your old flat? That always was one of my favorites," Sherlock remarked.

John rolled his eyes and shook his head, not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of a response. "Mycroft and Mary, they thought I left one war for another, the one that I fought with you. But they missed something. They're two of the three cleverest people that I've ever known, and they missed something, the other reason I might want to be around you. Something they couldn't deduce."

Sherlock wasn't laughing any more. Clearly, the idea that Mycroft, of all people, may have missed something, had got his attention. Sherlock was standing stock still, not moving except for the slight breeze filtering in through the open kitchen window that was ruffling his hair. If this hadn't been such a serious moment, it would have made John laugh.

"Being with you was never about a war. Because Moriarty, Magnussen, Euros, all of them... they were the ones who didn't matter, who were only the 'legends' or whatever Mary was saying we were. And I never wanted any part of that. But I dealt with them because... because..."

"Because what?" Sherlock asked in a faint voice.

John opened and closed his mouth. He'd already said too much, more than he'd ever planned to say. He'd given Sherlock all the clues he needed, surely by now he was just doing that thing he did, the one where he pretended not to know who Margaret Thatcher was just to piss people off. John wasn't going to let him get away with it this time.

"Deduce it for me."

Sherlock blinked. "What?"

"You've always wanted a chance to prove that you're the clever sibling. Come on. Deduce it for me, right now. There's no trick, no lives at risk, nobody here but us. The game is over, but first, I'm asking you for one more deduction. One more miracle."

John knew Sherlock recognized the words. It was obvious in the faint twitch of his jaw and the pursing of his lips, as much as Sherlock tried to hide it.

"John, please..."

"Nope. I've said all I'm going to say. If you figure it out, if you want to solve my case, I'll be in the living room getting your DVD player up and running so that you can watch that figure skating show you've been talking about."

He turned, ready to get back to work, because untangling cables was a lot easier than untangling feelings, but-

"Our DVD player."

It was John's turn to be surprised. "Sorry?"

"If I'm right in my deduction, John, then I think it may be best you move back into Baker Street. I don't particularly enjoy visiting other peoples' homes, I feel far more comfortable in a familiar setting and there would certainly be no point in my rebuilding this flat and recreating my sock index if I were to then abandon it and spend a significant amount of time in another place. Plus it would be a nightmare to change my business cards..."

John folded his arms, tilting his head to one side. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. You haven't even done your deduction yet."

Sherlock closed his eyes, his hands moving in front of him, fingers dancing, literally drawing conclusions in the air in front of him. "The first time we shared dinner in Angelo's, you displayed a significant interest in my history of romantic entanglements. Ever since our first meeting with the Woman, you have shown jealousy and monitored the number of texts she has sent me, an impressive feat of memory that is almost comparable to my own standards. While you lived here at Baker Street you largely chose to date women of a specific physical type, namely, tall and thin with dark, curly hair, however after believing that I was dead, your preferences changed to shorter blondes.  On your stag night, you placed your hand on my knee and leaned in close to me, almost as though you wished to initiate further physical contact. You took the time to deduce my birthday despite my never mentioning it when you fail to remember or even note down the majority of significant occasions, all of which leads me to believe that... that... that..."

Sherlock swayed where he stood, reaching out to grip the kitchen table tight with one white-knuckled hand. John watched him, holding his breath.

"I love you."

"What?"

"That is to say, you love me. I apologize, I must have muddled a few words there, easy mistake to make, those are certainly not phrases that I am accustomed to saying, sure you understand, anyway, I solved your case, perhaps the two of us should return to work now?"

John shook his head, taking a few, deliberate steps towards Sherlock. He could remember every single the time the two of them had been this close to each other. They flashed through his head, one after the other, a replay of every dazzling moment in his life since he'd returned to London...

"No. You said 'I love you.'"

"Yes, you love me, that was my deduction, am I correct?"

"You said the specific words, 'I love you'. And after what happened at Sherrinford, you don't use those words lightly. You don't make a mistake there. I do deductions too now, remember? And I deduce that the only reason you would ever say those words to me is... if you meant it. If you wanted to say it, but weren't quite sure how to do it."

For a moment, Sherlock's eyes were wide and his lips parted, his face completely vulnerable. But then he found his composure, even offering up the slightest twist of lips into a smile. "Yes, in retrospect 'Sherlock is actually a girl's name' may not have been the most obvious declaration of love that has ever been made..."

John laughed, shaking his head from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. "To be fair, I was a bit preoccupied that day. Few other things on my mind."

"John, what could possibly be more important than deciphering the codes I give you?"

"Oh, I don't know," John shrugged, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. He was shaking, his usually strong stomach suddenly feeling like it had been flipped upside down. "Maybe... this."

He stepped forwards, wrapping a hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and pulling him down. Sherlock went willingly, parting his lips on instinct despite never kissing anyone purely for pleasure in his entire life, and a second later their lips had melted together, soft and perfect and molding to one another like this was how they had always been supposed to be, for longer than either of them had known.

Sherlock let out a tiny gasp, John, a small, lower-pitched moan, both of them deepening the kiss at the same moment, realizing that they couldn't possibly ever have enough of one another, that there were just too many feelings for them to hold back any longer.

Sherlock's lips were plump and red and his breathing heavy when John finally pulled back with a satisfied sigh several minutes later.

Once he was able to find his voice, Sherlock murmured, "Yes, I would say that is perhaps the most important thing you and I have ever done."

John huffed out a short laugh. "We did manage to stop some of the most dangerous criminals this country has ever seen."

"You also married one of them. If you and I had been doing this a lot sooner, that might not have happened."

"So you're saying that if I kissed you years ago-

"That many of the dangers we have faced in recent years would have been avoided and we would now be living in a small cottage in Sussex with a dog and several beehives, yes."

John stared at him with an expression that clearly said he wasn't buying it for a minute.

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow. "In fairness, it was one hell of a game, though, wasn't it?

"No, you were one hell of a player," John corrected.

Sherlock's face lit up with the same soft blush John remembered seeing the first time he'd ever told Sherlock he was brilliant, in a cab in the streets of London on the way to investigate their first crime scene. This time, John let himself stare, his eyes wide with wonder that after all this time, all these years, against all the odds, the two of them were standing here, in Baker Street, together. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. The two of them against the rest of the world.

Sherlock stretched out his hand, twinkling eyes meeting John's own. "Dinner?"

"Starving."


End file.
